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Hoping to ease the squeeze, homeowners have started innovating to attract more visitors. Dalemain, a Georgian house in Cumbria, stages a Hindu dog blessing to celebrate the Nepalese day of the dog. At Hampton Court Palace, Henry VIII's old digs, guests receive velvet cloaks at the start of their tour. At Kelburn Castle, which dates back to the 13th century, the Earl of Glasgow commissioned Brazilian street artists to paint psychedelic murals on his home. The National Trust, a charity that advises historic properties, has encouraged estates to hire actors in period costume and remove barriers so that visitors can climb into beds and play billiards on pool tables.
Critics have lambasted such moves as the Disneyfication of British heritage. "I'm absolutely against throwing vulgarian tosh at the public. If increasing visitor numbers alone is your objective, then offer live sex and public executions," says Stephen Bayley, the founder and former chief executive of London's Design Museum. "I loathe this awful idea of having chewed chicken bones on the floor and his lordship's cigar butt smoldering in the ashtray. The contemplation of great architecture and landscape doesn't require third-rate circus activity."
But something of the kind might be required to preserve these wonders for future generations, especially as costs rise faster than incomes. "It's a tricky one," Carnarvon says of the need to both lure visitors and respect a building's integrity. "I'm afraid I still have the red ropes up."
She has, however, expanded her revenue stream--without erecting a barbecue pit in her living room. In honor of her husband's great-grandfather--the fifth Earl of Carnarvon, who was present alongside archeologist Howard Carter at the discovery of King Tut in 1922--the Carnarvons converted their cellars into an exhibition that contains 5,000-year-old artifacts exhumed from Tut's tomb. And she recently published a book, Lady Almina and the Real Downton Abbey, about a predecessor who steered Highclere Castle through World War I.
That's a lot to keep straight, even if you have live-in staff to help. But unlike the characters whose tumultuous lives unfold in her drawing rooms, Carnarvon knows that resolution to her own drama is never far from hand. "At the end of the day, if I haven't done it all, at least I've tried," she says. "And if it's really bad, a glass of pink champagne does wonders." Surely all homeowners can agree on that.